


All I Have

by amyfortuna



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Ass to Mouth, Father/Son Incest, First Time, M/M, Mentioned Fëanorian OT8, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Rimming, Sloppy Seconds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-22 22:08:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11976030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/pseuds/amyfortuna
Summary: In the wake of the Valar's pronouncement of exile, Finwë has a pronouncement of his own.





	All I Have

**Author's Note:**

  * For [uumuu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/uumuu/gifts).



After the solemn pronouncement of exile, the House of Finwë retreated behind closed doors to lick its wounds and debate. For the most part, the younger generation stayed out of it, going back to their respective homes, or taking the opportunity to talk in quiet corners with each other, some of them reconciling broken friendships, others fiercely and softly arguing over what would happen now. Finwë, Fëanáro, Nolofinwë, and Arafinwë retired to the comfort of Finwë's private rooms to take council and discuss what must be done. 

Fëanáro was the first to enter the room, and immediately took a seat on the wide couch facing the fireplace, the natural place of one who felt at home in Finwë's rooms. Nolofinwë pursed up his lips but said nothing, taking an armchair nearby. Arafinwë did not sit at all, but merely leaned on the back of Nolofinwë's chair with the air of a spectator about to witness a bullfight. 

Finwë, entering last, went as naturally as breathing to Fëanáro's side, kicking his shoes off and collapsing down next to him with his feet underneath him, wrapping one arm around Fëanáro's shoulders. Fëanáro leaned into him, face turned into his shoulder, and for a long moment no one said anything, though Nolofinwë stirred, putting on a show of impatience. 

At length Fëanáro raised his head, and Finwë settled back, sweeping all three of his children with a long and steady look. "Well, let me make one thing very clear before we begin," he said. "I will not give him up, for he is all that I have." He squeezed Fëanáro's shoulders for emphasis, and Fëanáro glanced up at him, surprise, love, and joy mingling on his face. 

Nolofinwë's face, already set grimly, went pale. He sat up straight, his hands beginning to reach out, but faltered and drew back, closing in on himself. 

Behind him, Arafinwë gave a short, humourless laugh. "Do what you will!" he said to all of them, insouciance in his voice. "I care not." Abruptly he turned and walked out of the room, letting the door fall softly closed behind him. Nolofinwë gazed after him, misery written on his face, clearly thinking that he would like to do much the same. After a moment, he looked back at Finwë and Fëanáro, sitting there so cozily, obviously watching his reactions. 

He took a breath. "What do you propose to do then, Father?" 

Finwë, after a moment, reached up and pulled the light circlet he was wearing off his head, handing it to Nolofinwë, who looked at it like he was being given a snake. Fëanáro's eyes got very wide, but he said nothing. 

"I hold myself to be unkinged," Finwë said, his voice slow and solemn as though he had prepared the words, "since the Valar have usurped my authority over my own people and interfered in what should have been a matter for the Noldor alone. I take Fëanáro's exile to be mine as well, and I will go with him when he leaves Tirion. I leave all matters of government in your hands, Nolofinwë." 

Nolofinwë hastily put the circlet down on the table between the couch and the armchair. "I do not want to be accused of seizing the rule of the Noldor from your hands, Father, or usurping your place, or Fëanáro's. 'Two sons at least thou hast to honour thy words,' I said, and I would not be proven false now." 

Fëanáro spoke, anger held caged in his voice at the reminder of that difficult day. "If truly you do honour your father's words, then you would heed them." 

Nolofinwë took another deep breath, visibly calming himself, as Finwë laid a hand on Fëanáro's chest and said softly, "Peace, beloved." Then he turned back to Nolofinwë. "I will announce it in the Great Square tomorrow morning, so that there is no division between our people. Within four Minglings from now we will be gone." 

"It shall be as you say, then, Father," Nolofinwë said. He gave Fëanáro a searching glance. "Please know that I take no pride or joy in rulership gained this way, and do it only because our father has given me this charge."

Fëanáro laughed. "Do not try to lie and tell me this was not your goal all along." 

Nolofinwë stood up, for a moment towering over Fëanáro, fire in both their eyes, but then he backed down and away, moving to the other side of the chair he had been sitting in, preparing to leave the room. "It is no lie." He shook his head. "I envy you rather, Fëanáro. For if our positions were reversed, Father would not come with me to Formenos." His voice cracked with grief on the last word of the sentence, and he bowed his head. 

On the couch, Finwë looked stricken, but said nothing, and after a moment, Nolofinwë turned and departed, blue robes sweeping dramatically, leaving the circlet on the table. The door closed softly behind him, and Fëanáro and Finwë were alone. 

"Why?" Fëanáro asked following a brief silence. "I understand that you wish to make a point to the Valar, Father, but there are other ways. You need not give up all you have, especially not to _him_." 

Finwë sighed, and then knelt up on the couch, swinging one leg over Fëanáro's body and settling into his lap, facing him. He took his face between his palms and looked closely into his eyes. "Was I not clear?" he said. "You are all I have. All I want. All I need. There is nothing I will not give up for you, and I will not be parted from you by anything." He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to Fëanáro's. 

Stunned, Fëanáro took a moment to respond, but then did, wrapping his arms around his father and kissing him back, warm and open-mouthed, the longing of a lifetime imbued in the taste and feel of their mouths together, their bodies together. 

For long moments they traded kisses, revelling in the feel and taste of each other, the slow slide of mouths and tongues entwined, the heady warmth of Fëanáro's lips more intoxicating to Finwë than the finest wine. At length Fëanáro drew back a little, breathing fast. "You have left it late to speak of this. Had I known before of how you feel, my decisions might have been other than they were." His voice held some accusation in it, but his arms remained wrapped around Finwë and he belied the words with kisses pressed to collarbone and throat. 

"I know," Finwë said with a sigh, pressing his own mouth to Fëanáro's forehead. "But so long have I been racked by fear and guilt, afraid of what the Valar would do, afraid of what the rest of the family might say or think." He sighed again. "But all that is gone now. I fear nothing, save losing you, any longer, and I am too weary to forgo claiming you as I have always desired."

"And as I have always desired too, Father," Fëanáro said softly. "You must know that. I dreamed of your arms around me and your mouth on mine ever since I have been old enough to dream at all of things like this, and nothing, not the lovers I have taken, not marriage and family, not age nor wisdom, has kept me from my dreams."

Finwë smiled. "Then at last may all your dreams be fulfilled tonight, and may the years to come prove a delight and not a burden." He slid off Fëanáro's lap and stood up, extending his hand. "Come to bed with me, my first, my only, my delight, my beloved." Fëanáro looked up, utter adoration on his face, placed his hand in Finwë's, and together they passed through the heavy doors at the end of the room into Finwë's bedroom. The lock slid shut behind them.

The fire in the fireplace of the anteroom burned low at their going. 

\----

Finwë stripped away Fëanáro's clothes as though he were performing a sacred rite, removing all traces of shame and guilt, leaving them behind in the past, just like they would soon leave Tirion itself behind. The garments carelessly fell to the floor, and slowly Fëanáro was exposed: strong chest and powerful arms, firm thighs and generous cock, already half-hard. Finwë took his hair clasps out and set them aside; removed the silver bracelets, the shining earrings, and the delicate, finely crafted necklace from around his throat, laying them on a nearby table. 

Finwë studied him with delight, as one would look at a prized work of one's own creation, holding him at arm's length and looking him up and down, picking out features of Míriel's body and features of his own, and where they combined into one glorious harmony of beauty. After a long moment, Finwë swept him into a kiss, hot and hard, enjoying the feel of his naked body pressed up against the softness of Finwë's flowing robes, so close to what they both needed and yet still so far. 

"Go and lie down," Finwë breathed against his mouth, and Fëanáro smiled, making his way over to the wide bed where, as a child, he had huddled in against his father, safe from nightmares. He turned back the coverlet, exposing the clean sheets, and climbed in. No one had shared this bed with his father in years, and if Fëanáro had his way, no one ever would again. 

Taller and more willowy in form than Fëanáro, Finwë made the removal of his garments and jewellery a production. He began by letting down his hair once Fëanáro was settled on the bed, watching him with hooded eyes. The dark fall of it poured down his back, shining in the dim light of Telperion coming in through the high windows. Each ring and bracelet and earring was removed slowly, gracefully, and at last Finwë unclasped the necklace he wore, stripping away all signs of kingship and power. His robes followed in one motion, and at last it was not the King of the Noldor who stood naked in the quiet room, but only Finwë. 

Fëanáro beckoned with his hand, and Finwë crossed over to him, settling down on the bed beside him. Their bodies met, and both gasped at the contact, Fëanáro reaching out to pull Finwë on top of him. Finwe's hair whispered across Feanaro's chest as he settled himself, brushing lightly against a nipple, and Fëanáro arched into the sensation. 

For a few moments they both were lost to the feel of their hands on the other's body, then Finwë raised himself up and pressed his mouth to Fëanáro's throat, biting at the tender skin on the side of his neck. 

"When were you last taken?" he breathed against Fëanáro's ear, and Fëanáro smiled. 

"Just a few hours ago," he whispered back, and then, sweetly, "My sons are so good to me." 

"Ooh." Finwë's voice was half a breathless aroused gasp. 

"Can you picture it, Father?" Fëanáro said, his smile turning wickedly seductive. "You will not need to prepare me much." 

For answer Finwë spat into his hand and slid it down Fëanáro's body, over the erection that stood up straight and proud, down over his balls, and below to his hole. Fëanáro closed his eyes and visibly relaxed for him, and Finwë pressed two fingers into him with only a little effort. 

"Whose seed is this inside you?" Finwë's fingers slipped slickly and he began to thrust with them, slowly. 

Fëanáro let out a soft groan, raising his hips to meet Finwë's fingers. "Pityo's and Telvo's. We went walking in the gardens this morning, to Telvo's bower." The youngest son of Fëanáro was a gardener who had been given an entire section of the palace gardens for his own use. He and his twin had together built a wooden gazebo inside it. "They had me on the cushions there, both at the same time." He cried out suddenly as the angle of Finwë's thrusts changed, and writhed against him, clutching at his free hand. "Father! Please, like that! Yes!" 

Finwë obliged him for a moment, then smiled and slowly withdrew his fingers, making a show of licking them clean one by one. "I need more of a taste of you," he said, and sat up, moving to kneel between Fëanáro's legs. He spent a few minutes lavishing attention on Fëanáro's cock, sucking and licking it by turns, discovering all the ways he could make Fëanáro cry out. 

Then he grabbed a cushion from the top of the bed. "Raise your hips," he said, and Fëanáro obeyed eagerly. Finwë slid the cushion underneath him and bent down, licking his balls, finding the clean warm scent that was all Fëanáro. 

"Father," Fëanáro groaned, his hands reaching down, brushing over Finwë's hair. Finwë smiled, and bent further to lick at Fëanáro's entrance, pressing inward with his tongue, opening him up further little by little. Fëanáro was constantly making noises now, little moans and soft exclamations of need, incoherent blasphemous mutterings in all the languages he knew.

For Finwë, this was nothing less than a feast, and he revelled in it, the scent of his son, the taste of him, the taste of his sons lingering on his body. The thought of being between Pityafinwë and Telufinwë was a delightful one, and he could only hope that exile would offer new possibilities beyond his dreams. 

When it seemed that Fëanáro was on the edge of coming despite the lack of stimulation to his erection, Finwë drew back, lifting his head to look at Fëanáro's bliss-stunned face. "Shall I fuck you now?" he asked, and Fëanáro groaned eagerly in response. 

Pressing into him was like coming home; Finwë pushed all the way inside him, and then for the sheer pleasure of it, withdrew entirely and did it again, enjoying Fëanáro's cries of need. His thrusts were slow at first, but Fëanáro wrapped his legs around him, pulling him close, and Finwë could not hold back, not with Fëanáro reaching up to kiss him, not with Fëanáro's hands stroking up and down his back, nails digging in when Finwë gave it to him especially hard. 

Ecstasy mounted, raging within Finwë like a storm. Fëanáro's cock rubbed against him as he fucked him, and after a little while, he reached down between their bodies, stroking it in time with his thrusts. Fëanáro gave a loud cry, wordless and blissful, and came hard, seed spilling between them, clenching around Finwë. 

Finwë could no longer hold back, and drove home hard with his own cry of fulfilment, shuddering out his release deep within his son's body to mix with his grandchildren's seed. Wave after wave of rapture swept over him, and at last he fell limp into Fëanáro's arms, overwhelmed with pleasure. 

Fëanáro pressed kisses to his face, and Finwë came back to the awareness of the world slowly, warmly. He was held in loving arms, his cock still inside Fëanáro. Groaning softly, he slid out, watching the evidence of his release spilling after him. He pressed a finger to Fëanáro's hole, pushing it back inside, and then licked the finger off. Fëanáro sat up, pulling Finwë up to sit on his lap again, and together they traded kisses, one by one, in the warm silvery light, until gold began to spread through the sky once more.


End file.
